


can't stop thinking of your diamond mind

by ahana



Category: SKAM (TV)
Genre: M/M, SKAM Fic Week, wedding crasher au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-19
Updated: 2017-08-19
Packaged: 2018-12-17 10:09:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,773
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11849385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ahana/pseuds/ahana
Summary: I’ve been hashtag blessed, is all Isak can think.Or, Even crashes a wedding and Isak’s not too happy about it, until he is.





	can't stop thinking of your diamond mind

It’s one thing, Isak argues, to try to reconnect with your son who you haven’t cared about much, save for the weekly phone calls to find out about his life (read: spending habits), and an _entirely_ different thing to ask him to be the best man at your wedding to a woman who was not his mother.

Currently, Isak’s sitting in a fancy chair (it’s actually an ordinary plastic chair wrapped in ribbons but hey who’s judging, right?) at a large circular table surrounded by family members he hasn’t seen in years. His Aunt Cecilie is sitting next to him, occasionally shoving him in the stomach with her elbows to whisper some gossip about the passing person. His grandmother’s half asleep in the seat across from him, her teacup balancing precariously between her fingers. A few other people sit at the large table with Isak – an annoying excuse of a cousin, the cousin’s father who seems hell bent on explaining the dangers of incorrect fishing techniques, and of course, his old neighbor Hilde, who can’t stop talking his ear off about her daughter.

“– is studying Finance, you know,” Hilde boasts excitedly, with a hand brushing Isak’s arm, “she’s so smart! She’s even in the running for president of the student government. I always tell her that she’s working too hard, the poor girl, but she never listens to me. I think you two would get along really well! You should meet up sometime! Should I give you her number?”

“Uh- I- I think I’m gonna get something to drink,” Isak says, scrambling out of his seat. He grabs his phone, pushes his chair forward and leans away from a feverish Hilde who looks about two seconds away from pulling out her daughter’s resume and 8x10 headshot. He sneaks another look at the rest of the table, noticing everyone’s eyes focused on Isak’s feverish movements, and takes a deep breath. He puts on a polite smile and quietly says, “I’ll be back.”

And he’s off.

Isak is one hundred percent sure that he has never run away from something this fast before, not even from the police when Eva’s parties get busted (as usual) and he’s too high (as usual). He rushes towards the bar, steering clear of any other relatives in his path. His eyes are on the beautifully lit bottles of whiskey and champagne on the stocked shelves behind the bar table. They’re calling his name and telling him he deserves a drink, or maybe four. And you know what? They’re fucking right.

He didn’t even want to come to the damn wedding in the first place. When he got the invitation three months ago, he threw a hissy fit, Eskild in the corner of the kitchen watching the whole thing with wide eyes. He didn’t say a word through Isak’s vehement rant, probably because he agreed with Isak that Terje Valtersen was an asshole of a father, and even made him breakfast afterward. Linn quietly spoke up after the three of them had finished their pancakes to tell Isak that he didn’t need to go to the wedding; he wasn’t obligated to when his father could barely find the time to call his son. The conversation ended there and neither of them brought it up again.

Until, of course, his father’s girlfriend called Isak a week later to beg him to be the best man at the wedding. Not Isak’s father. His _girlfriend_. Isak didn’t know what how to respond and accidentally said yes because he’s a bumbling idiot. Suddenly he was roped into suit selections, speech preparations, cake tasting and other jazz he couldn’t give a shit about. Through this whole shebang, his father didn’t look at him more than thrice. Was he guilty? Was he angry? Was he indifferent? Isak didn’t know and Isak didn’t care.

He reaches the bar and sits on one of the six black stools. He shuffles out of his suit jacket and places it on his back rest as he waits for the bartender to finish serving a young, already tipsy couple. He rolls the sleeves of his white shirt up to his elbows and turns around to face the rest of the reception.

He sees his father and his bride on the fluorescent dance floor, amidst tens of other couples dancing to a cheesy 80s pop song blaring through the speakers. His grandparents are taking selfies with some of his younger cousins, Hilde seems to be talking to a young man who looked to be her next target, a group of men are standing outside the dance tent, smoking by the lake and a few people are making out behind trees and bushes. Quite typical for a Valtersen gathering.

The night was serene and as he closes his eyes to gain some semblance of peace, Isak is thankful that Ruth, his father’s shiny new wife, decided on an outdoor wedding. At least he doesn’t have to sit in a suffocating ballroom where the AC didn’t work as well as it should. He is under the midnight sun; a chill summer breeze is blowing through the air and a loud shriek is ringing through the quiet.

Wait. What?

Isak startles out of his trance and looks to his left, where the noise seems to have originated. Three boys are standing in a circle in front of a tall tree, two of them bent over their knees laughing at the third who has a variety of leaves stuck in his blonde hair. They aren’t wearing suits, just button-down shirts which look extremely out of place for the exclusive and expensive wedding setting. One of the boys, a blonde, shoves the guy to his right causing him to fall onto the ground. That sets the boys off again into comical laughter as they slap each other on the back, too hard to be sober. Isak can’t help but smile at the scene. It’s fucking ridiculous.

The boys calm down after a bit and just stand next to each other, looking at the ongoing party, just like Isak had been doing a while back. Every so often they elbow each other and point at someone appreciatively or giggle at someone else.

Suddenly, the blonde boy’s eyes sweep over to the bar and to where Isak is slouching on the bar stool staring at some random boys for fuck knows how long. He straightens up quickly and takes a look at the bar. He was all alone. Isak looks back at the boy to see him still looking. Even from here, Isak can see a smile spreading on the boy’s lips as he realizes that he was looking at him. His blonde hair is swept back messily for someone who is supposed to be at an elegant wedding and his head is tilted to one side, almost like he is scrutinizing Isak. Then, he looks away to grab his short haired friend’s attention and says a few words, points to Isak, waves a hand at them and begins to walk to where Isak’s sitting.

Isak doesn’t even have time to begin panicking when a knock on the bar counter startles him.

“What can I get for you, sir?”

Isak turns to face the thirty-something bartender, who is tipping over the table waiting for Isak’s order.

“Two beers, please,” a voice behind him says.

Isak turns around to see the blonde boy standing behind him, chest almost touching his own back. He turns back around to see the bartender raise his eyebrows questioningly at him. Isak nods at the bartender and sends him off to make his drink. The blonde boy slides into the seat next to him, places his elbow on the table to lean his head against it and smiles brightly at Isak. His blue eyes are glimmering in the light of the setting sun and light shines through his disarrayed hair. He looks like he belongs in the photo collection of Greek gods sculptures that Eskild has taped on his bedroom wall.

 _I’ve been hashtag blessed_ , is all Isak can think.

“Hello,” he says. He has a wonderfully deep voice and _fuck_ , Isak wants to swim in it. Isak wants to snorkel in it. Isak wants to scuba dive in it. And Isak needs to stop before this analogy gets weird.

“Hi,” Isak sputters out.

“Beautiful ceremony, huh,” the boy says, his eyes not leaving Isak’s own.

The bartender slaps two beers onto the counter and walks away without another word. Isak reaches for his beer and takes a long swig as an excuse to calm himself down. The alcohol helps make people confident, right? Well, Isak needs all the fucking confidence he can muster.

The boy beside him reaches for his own drink and brings it to his lips, all while never looking away from Isak. He sets his beer down after a small sip and licks his lips. Isak’s eyes follow his movement and _shit_ , Isak still hasn’t answered his question.

Don’t judge him! He hasn’t dated anyone since he’s come out and this gorgeous male specimen talking to him is bound to make him flustered. It’s fucking science, okay?

 _Doesn’t make it any less embarrassing though_ , a part of him says, to which Isak simply raises his middle finger.

“Yeah, it was okay,” Isak answers, not wanting to go on about how much he hated being at the ceremony because his father was a dick who gave up easily on his family and moved along to a new family that wouldn’t cause him as many problems as his old one. That was his problem, though, not the hot boy’s.

“The best man was a dick though,” the blonde boy says.

And… _the fuck_?

Isak’s eyes furrow into what he hopes is an incredulous expression, accompanied with a very smart, “huh?”

The blonde boy just smirks. “He definitely wanted to do the bride.”

“What the fuck,” Isak half-yells, one hand slamming down on counter next to him.

“What,” the boy asks, innocently as he guides the glass back to his mouth.

“I- I don’t want to _do_ Ruth! What the fucking shit are you on about? That’s my step-mum! What the fuck!”

The boy freezes, a still glass resting on his lower lip. He brings his wide eyes up to Isak’s face and an alarmed expression is painted across his own.

“Were you even at the same wedding I was,” Isak questions, disgruntled.

The guy has the audacity to fucking laugh, a loud and cheery laugh that uninvitingly sends chills down Isak’s spine. “Probably not. I wasn’t at a wedding.”

 _Huh_ , Isak thinks stupidly. This situation is beyond Isak’s brain capacity. “You weren’t at a wedding?”

“Nope,” the boy answers helpfully.

Isak just raises his eyebrows at the boy.

“Okay I’ll tell you,” Mr. Blue Eyes says, leaning toward Isak, “we, my friends and I, were – Oh shit! I can’t tell you! You’re the fucking best man!”

This throws the boy into booming laughter. And that tells Isak everything he needs to know really. The boy is not dressed for a wedding, he didn’t know Isak was the best man and he reeks – Isak sniffs the air a little – of weed.

“You weren’t invited to the wedding,” Isak says, his eyes narrowing in suspicion, “were you?”  
The boy sobers up and sets his glass down. He tilts his head to the left as if considering Isak and his accusation.

“You crashed my dad’s wedding,” Isak deadpans.

At this the boy’s eyes widen into saucers and his eyebrows are pinched together in guilt.

 _Good_ , Isak thinks, because he is _not_ about to let this hot boy scat free.

“Well –”

Isak doesn’t even let him finish.

“Seriously? Who gave you the right to just crash my dad’s wedding? No, really, who the fuck are you? The king of Norway? You think you can just waltz into any event –”

“I didn’t waltz.”

“You waltzed! You waltzed right into my dad’s wedding where he’s happy and peaceful and everything he has never been up until now! How long were you here anyway? Were you there during the ceremony, where he kissed that two-pinch do-nothing shiny new wife of his –”

“Ouch.”

“– a kiss that, by the fucking way, you weren’t invited to watch? What were you thinking? Do you not have anything better to do with your Saturday than ruin some 20-year-old kid’s dad’s shitty wedding? And it’s not like you bothered to show up sober anyway dude, my grandma could smell the weed off of you.”

“Shit. Really?”

“Yes, you dick. Why did you come, anyway? The food is absolute shit, the music was selected by my ten-year-old cousin –”

“Ah, that explains the Justin Beiber!”

“– and you clearly don’t know anyone here.”

“I know you,” the boy says, simply.

“No you fucking don’t!”

“Look.” The boy looks exasperated. “Do you want some,” he says, as he removes a rolled up joint from his pocket and waves it in Isak’s face.

“Would you put that down,” Isak hisses. He quickly reaches forward and shoves the boy’s hand down to their laps. He keeps their hands down there with an iron grip as he looks up at the party. No one is looking their way, thank _fucking_ god.

“Are you out of your mind,” Isak whispers in anger, once he’s turned to face the boy again.

“Kinda,” he smirks.

Isak rolls his eyes.

“I’m just trying to help a guy out,” the boy says with one hand in the air in surrender, “you look like you hate your life right now and I’m offering you a way to forget about your father’s quote unquote two-pinch do-nothing shiny new wife.”

The boy pulls his hands out of Isak’s clutch and stands up. He smooths his shirt down and takes a step away from Isak, his back to the reception party. He raises the hand with the weed and waves it around again, still hiding it from Isak’s relatives.

“It’s up to you,” he says and spins around from Isak to head towards the trees. Isak’s eyes follow him for the three seconds it takes him to disappear behind the tree cover and before he can even think about it, Isak gets up to hurry after him.

The boy is sitting on the grass with his back against a tree trunk, puffing out smoke. His elbows are resting on his folded knees, arms stretched out with the joint playing between his fingers. Isak quietly sits beside him and looks at the ground, sheepishly. The boy extends his hand, silently offering the joint to him. Isak takes it and pulls it to his mouth in stuttered movements, unsure if he should be doing this on his dad’s most important day. The boy raises his eyebrows at Isak and that’s all it takes for him to inhale.

For a few minutes, neither of them speaks. They quietly share the joint between them. Isak throws his head back and rests it against the tree. He lets his limbs go slack and slowly feels some of the tension drive away from him. He stretches his neck like a cat and looks up at the sky, where some of the stars are peeking out.

“You know, I almost decided on astronomy in college,” Isak whispers as he tries to find all the constellations he memorized as a child. He’s disappointed when he can make out some of the shapes but can’t remember any of the names.

“Really?”

Isak makes a thoughtful sound and then says a little louder, “yeah. I went with biochemistry instead.”

“Holy shit. So, you’re like a biology genius?”

“I wouldn’t go that far,” Isak mutters.

The boy laughs softly and Isak turns to look at him and wow. Isak should totally upgrade his nickname to Mr. Fine. His hair is more messed up than it was, strands of it spilling onto his face. His mouth is curled around the joint Isak handed him. He brings a hand up to run it through his hair and Isak is absolutely mesmerized.

“Yeah you would,” the boy says. His voice has gotten a little deeper since they started smoking the jay and now it sends shivers down Isak’s spine.

“Yeah, I would,” he agrees proudly, “what about you?”

Mr. Fine makes a questioning noise and Isak reiterates, “what do you do?”

“Oh,” he exclaimed and crossed his legs, “I’m studying film and video.”

Isak just nods and for a while things are quiet again. The noise from the party is filtered by the tree cover so Isak can only hear the occasional shrieks his aunts and uncles let out as they presumably dance to the pop music. The air’s gotten quite chilly and Isak’s regretting leaving his suit jacket by the bar. He brings his legs up to his chest and wraps his arms around it, rocking back and forth slowly. The weed’s making it’s way into his mind and loosening all his joints. The boy coughs suddenly, hands Isak the joint and rubs his hands together against the cold.

“Do you want to listen to some music,” he wonders, pulling his phone out.

Isak nods his head. “What do you listen to?”

“I can listen to anything. Do you have a preference?”

“Nineties’ hip hop is more up to my speed.”

“Up to your speed, huh,” he chuckles and clicks around on the Spotify app open on his phone. He finally decides on a song and shuts his phone off. A male voice seeps through the speakers and a quick solemn beat follows.

“Do you know this song,” the boy asks.

Isak has never heard this song in his life. But he’s not about to admit that to the head bopping, finger tapping hot boy who’s started rapping along with the song, next to him. So, like any human being would do to avoid embarrassment in front of a hot person, Isak lies to impress. Fake it till you make it, right?

“Yeah of course!”

“Yeah,” the boy asks excitedly, “you know Nas?”

“Nas. Na-as. Nas,” Isak says stumbling over the name, “yeah yeah of course.”

“You haven’t even heard of him, have you,” the boy says with a laugh. The corners of his eyes crinkle and his eyes sort of disappear. A large grin hangs off of his lips as smoke curls around them. The smile lifts his cheeks to frame his cheekbones and _hot damn_ , Isak is in love.

Isak ducks his head when he realizes the boy is still laughing at him. What kind of an idiot is he? Did he not realize he’d get caught? Now, the hot boy is going to think he was just bluffing about the nineties hip hop thing. He probably thinks Isak likes Justin Beiber or some shit and wanted to cover it up. Oh fuck.

He brushes imaginary leaves out of his hair and looks away from the boy with an embarrassed smile on his face.

“Don’t worry,” the boy says, “I’ll make you listen to more of him. Who do you listen to, if you don’t listen to Nas?”

And so, the minutes roll by. Isak gets lost in conversation with the hot wedding crasher and it’s easy to forget where he is and why he was frustrated with the world in the first place. Although that could be the jay, Isak’s going to pretend it’s all because of the stranger.

They talk about music and tv shows. The boy tells him all about a show on Netflix that he “absolutely, without a doubt” has to watch. He flails his arms around as he speaks, gesticulating every sentence. His eyes light up as he speaks about shot angles, lighting and dialogue delivery, all of which go over Isak’s head. But he’s happy to listen to him talk about it because Isak delivered no less when the boy brought up a stunt in a film he had really liked. Without realizing it, Isak ranted about how the stunt actually wouldn’t have worked in real life because gravity wouldn’t have supported a jump like the one the protagonist took and the distance between the cars wasn’t proportionate to the assumed mass of the actor. The boy just nodded along like he was absorbing everything Isak told him. Isak cut himself off before he bored the hot stranger to death.

They exchange stories about their friends. Isak tells him about Jonas and the anti-capitalistic tirade he went on at a party where someone called Eva a “basic girl”. The boy tells him about the time his friend, Mikael, punched a homophobic guy in the face for calling him some choice words that gave Isak chills.

“I would have jumped in too but I’m not really a fighting kind of person,” he finished.

“Yeah. You look more like the ‘make love, not war’ kind of person,” Isak joked.

The boy guffawed and hit Isak’s shoulder with his own. “You’re not wrong.”

They talk about their classes. Isak enacted the time his microbiology professor fell asleep while invigilating their midterm exams. The boy clutched his stomach as he rolled on the ground laughing and Isak may have overdone the imitation but it was totally worth it, to hear his laugh. The boy, then, told him about the project he was working on and how the people in his group weren’t cooperating.

“– like, I’ve wanted to make this film for a long time and they’re ruining the experience for me,” he laments.

Isak agrees with him. Group projects never turn out well. It’s either a fucking mess or it’s a fucking mess.

“What’s the film about,” Isak asks instead of going off again about his microbiology professor who teamed him up with the worst possible lab mates on planet earth, causing his lab final to go up in flames. Isak’s still planning to get back at the two of them somehow.

“A mirror.”

“I’m sorry, what?”

The boy giggles and it sounds like a dream. “It’s about what a mirror sees in 48 hours and how it affects the mirror.”

“Affects the mirror?”

“Yeah. So, the protagonist is this bipolar kid and the film takes place over the span of two days. The first day he’s manic, he crashes at night and the next day he’s depressed. The mirror sees it all.”

The boy pauses suddenly, his body becomes a little stiff as he looks at Isak, “you know what bipolar is right?”

“Yeah,” Isak nods, “my friend’s mum is bipolar. She’s cool.”

The boy nods and in a split second, goes back to his usual demeanor. “Oh, okay. So, this mirror. When the boy is manic, the mirror is shiny and bright. When the boy crashes, it shatters and as the boy goes through depression, the mirror’s surface becomes a murky gray.”

“That’s fucking cool as heck. Like, we, as people, never think about it but when you look at a mirror, the mirror’s always looking back at you.”

The boy blushes. He fucking blushes. Does he _want_ Isak dead?

“You’re right. That’s what the story is based on basically. And, thanks. It’s all a personal experience.”

Isak startles. “That’s even cooler!”

The boy just blinks at him. _Shit Isak, what the fuck were you thinking?_

“I meant, it’s cool that it’s personal, you know? Not that your bipolar is cool, which I’m sure it’s not at all very cool. Probably very difficult at times. But, I don’t mean you’re difficult! Fuck, I –”

“It’s okay. I got it,” the boy laughs, placing a hand on Isak’s shoulder. Isak feels shivers run along the length of his right arm and a part of him doesn’t ever want to wash his shoulder again.

“What I meant was,” Isak attempts, “it’s cool that you’re putting out something that’s personal to you. That’s true art, isn’t it?”

“What do you know about art? You’re a science nerd!”

“I take great offense to that! I’m the master of art.”

“Oh, really?”

“Don’t challenge me, stranger.”

“I wouldn’t dare challenge the master.”

Suddenly a shrill phone ring interrupts the boys’ laughter. Isak notices it as his and pulls it out of his pocket. There’s only three people that could be texting him now – Jonas (to find out if Isak was okay after the wedding because he was an amazing best friend), Eva (to send him sixty messages about how drunk she was), and Eskild (to ask him if he needed to beat up Isak’s dad, like he promised he would if things went south). Turns out it’s neither of them and that makes Isak’s smile turn into a sneer.

 **Fra Pappa:** We’re leaving for the hotel now. Where are you? Did you leave without saying goodbye? That would make Ruth sad, you know that Isak.

Isak rolls his eyes and puts his phone into his pocket. He looks at the boy next to him whose head is tilted curiously at Isak.

“I have to go,” Isak confesses. He stands up, hands the joint back to the boy and brushes his butt of any clinging grass.

“Don’t worry. Your butt looks perfect,” the boy winks.

Isak is so fucked.

He stammers out a laugh as the boy smiles up at him. He can feel his pocket vibrating, probably his father calling for him, but he’s reluctant to leave this bubble he’s created with this stranger.

“Well, goodbye stranger,” he says, and lamely waves as he takes another step towards the tree cover.

“Even.”

“What?”

“My name is Even.”

 _Even_. Isak thinks it sounds perfect for the handsome boy staring up at him, with stars above his hair and in his eyes.

“Goodbye, Even.”

__

Monday morning classes should be cancelled, Isak thinks as he takes a gulp of his coffee. They should be made illegal, banned, abolished, deleted from the code that runs this world. Which fucking idiot came up with morning classes? Why did that idiot think it was a good idea? Clearly, Isak wasn’t the only one who thought it was a bad idea, judging by the five other sleepy and hungover people sitting in the courtyard with him.

He takes another long gulp of his coffee and looks down at the Molecular Genetics notes laid out in front of him on the wooden table. He tucks his pen behind his ear, inhales deeply and begins reading the chapter on DNA isolation that he hasn’t touched all weekend because he was too busy stalking a hot wedding crasher. What can he say? He’s desperate. Even wasn’t on any social media, not even LinkedIn, and it just ticked Isak off. What kind of a beautiful pretentious hipster was he that he didn’t need social media? How was Isak supposed to stalk him, now?

He’s about halfway through the second sentence of lipid separation when a shrill voice interjects his thoughts.

“Hi Isak,” Vilde shrieks, “funny seeing you here!”

Isak smiles politely at Vilde’s sunny and upbeat personality, even though he wants to punch her face. Seriously, it’s 9:00. Who the fuck smiles at 9:00? The sun itself is shedding tears in the form of solar flares and this girl’s here like an Amish farmer, smiling at the crack of dawn.

Isak resents her.

“So, I’m here to give you a flyer about the film showcase in the West Hall auditorium on Wednesday,” Vilde says, enthusiastically (can’t say the same for Isak), “the film club is screening three of the short films they’ve been working on and we’d love to have you there! There’ll be food and drinks, non-alcoholic because it’s a school event, but we can always sneak in some wine and beer. You in?”

She says all of that in one breath and, honestly, Isak only caught the first sentence. He gingerly takes the flyer she’s shoved towards him and pretends to look it over once.

“I’ll think about it, Vilde,” he says. She seems to accept the answer and smiles brightly at him as she walks away towards the girl half sleeping on the couch.

Isak shoves the flyer into the corner of his table but before he can get back to the separation of lipids from DNA, something on the flyer catches his eye and his hands race across the table to grab it. As he reads it once, twice, thrice, Isak cannot believe how bright his day just became.

 _Even Bech Næsheim and Mikael Øverlie Boukhal present_  
**_Reflect_**  
_“You look at the mirror, and the mirror always looks back at you.”_  
_At the West Hall Auditorium, room 126. Screening begin sharply at 19:00. Pre-party starts at 18:15_

**Author's Note:**

> Isak seems like he has a lot of issues to work through and he’s a bit of a jerk in this fic. To be fair, he is a bit of a jerk in canon too so I hope I didn’t overdo it! Also, I have no idea who a two-pinch person is. I heard someone use it at a family ceremony to describe an uncle they hated and when I was writing this scene, that’s all that came into my head. I tried to google it and got nothing so that’s that, I guess.  
> Thanks Mackenzie for beta reading! :)  
> Title is from the song Ocean Eyes by Billie Elish.  
> Hope this wasn’t too bad! Feedback is always appreciated x


End file.
